


Draw Me Like One of Your Fangirls

by knightinbrightfeathers



Category: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:08:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3105053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinbrightfeathers/pseuds/knightinbrightfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baz draws. His aesthetic is blond prophesied heroes with perfect jawlines and blue eyes and great legs... Sigh. Ahem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw Me Like One of Your Fangirls

As heir to the distinguished and well-known Pitch family, Tyrannus Basilton Pitch had a lot weighing on his shoulders. Good- no, excellent- grades were expected of him, he headed the Watford Dueling and Amateur Spellmongering club, and he had to keep up the whole not-going-to-drink-human-blood-to-satisfy-the-godawful-thirst thing. He had exams to study for, a new wand-flourish to approve (but probably disapprove, due to the wand flourish being more likely to take someone’s eye out than to actually look good or enhance a spell) and a reputation to keep up. He should be roaming the halls or maybe snogging Agatha again, just to annoy Snow.

Instead, he was sitting on his bed and sneaking glances at his roommate.

No, not sneaking glances, he reassured himself. That would be ridiculous. He saw plenty of Snow, or actually, too much. The annoying git was everywhere, always following him around in order to foil some kind of dastardly plan. Baz always made sure that whenever Snow followed him, he snuck out to the forest and drank from a fluffy bunny rabbit in the goriest way possible. He’d ruined a shirt or six, but at least the muffled gagging sounds were interesting, in a way they really shouldn’t be.

If he wasn’t sneaking glances, then what was he doing?

“Stop glaring at my back,” Simon said abruptly, interrupting Baz’s train of thought and providing an excuse. “If you’re going to hex me, bloody well do it already.”

“I’d love to, Snow, really. But the Roommate’s Anathema protects your sorry arse.” Baz got up from his bed and smiled sardonically at Simon, who flushed and scowled back. “If you would excuse me, I have things to do.” He waved a hand lazily and stepped out into the corridor, shutting the door behind him.

Out of the room, Baz tugged at his collar. When had it become so hot in the dorms? Maybe the Mage had had another bright idea and introduced a fire drake to the campus. Si- Snow would have to go and demolish it, and Baz would have to go and help him, and he’d get insulted every step of the way. Brilliant.

Baz set off towards the library, finding himself much more cheerful than he had been a minute ago.

—-

Simon stared at the notes scattered across his desk. When he’d begun studying an hour earlier they’d been stacked alphabetically and numbered by order of likeliness to appear in the finals. Penelope really was the only reason he hadn’t yet given up on studying. If Baz could get along without, surely anyone could? But Baz was smart, Simon admitted to himself, while he himself was barely capable of a proper transformation spell. Only yesterday he’d turned the rather nice blue china doorknob he’d been given to a monstrous imitation diamond handle. He’s only been able to save face because it had turned to be fine crystal and not plastic as he’d first thought.

Maskelyne take stupid Theoretic Spellery anyways. What use was it in real life? Simon tossed the whole mess in the air, but the momentary satisfaction gave way to guilt. He had to study, and Pen had worked hard to help him, and if Baz came in he’d pitch a fit.

When had he started caring what Baz thought or did? Sure, the man had saved him a few times, but only when forced into a corner- and always while insulting and ridiculing him thoroughly. “Stupid pasty-faced jerk,” Simon muttered and got up to gather his notes. Some of them had even landed on Baz’s bed. He snatched them up, barely touching the covers and glancing at the door every five seconds.

Back at his desk, Simon sighed and sorted through his notes. The best move would probably be to leave Theoretic Spellery alone for a while. He picked a subject from his list at random- History of Witchcraft and Wizardry- and began to read.

—-

“Baz, I loaned you a quill and ink so you could summarize the events of the Salem Witch Trials, not so you could scribble caricatures of the teachers all over the nice clean parchment,” Penelope said. She tapped the page Baz was working on and raised both eyebrows when he jumped. “Come on, Baz, you like History. Concentrate.”

Baz looked over at Penelope’s notes, which were in tiny writing and in three different colors. “Not everyone’s a neat freak like you, Pen.”

“Ha ha. I know you terrorize poor Simon about cleanliness in your room, so don’t give me any of that nonsense.”

“Poor Simon? Poor me, more like it. Bloody Snow, all everybody talks about in this school,” Baz growled. He scratched the quill across the page, blunting the tip and splattering ink onto his forehead.

“All right, that’s enough. Give me back my things before you ruin them,” Penelope said. She took the quill and ink easily, but when she tried to take the parchment, Baz covered it with both hands. “Come on, you idiot, I can still use that parchment!”

“’s personal,” Baz said defensively. He tried to bat Penelope’s hands away, but lost when she waved her ring at him and murmured, “Where two are fighting the third wins.” The parchment sailed into the air and Penelope caught it neatly.

“What could possibly be personal about a bunch of drawings of Professor Benedict’s cheekbones?” she asked. “You’ve showed me your drawings before. They’re usually quite good, so there’s no need for false humility.” Penelope studied the parchment, turning it this way and that. “Although you’ve really messed up this time. I can’t recognize anyone here. Maybe this one could be Professor Shorttop…”

“Wow, thanks, Pen, that’s a really nice way to support my hobby,” Baz said. He reached for the parchment, lunging across the table. Penelope evaded him by getting up and taking a few steps away.

“Hmm, this actually does look familiar… the eye shape, and the nose, I’m sure I’ve seen these before… square jawline, tousled curls, big happy smile…” Penelope stopped in her tracks and turned a grinning face to Baz, who was looking at her with big puppy eyes that looked as if he’d taken a leaf from Simon’s book. “Say, Baz, would these be drawings of our own dear Simon Oliver Snow?”

Baz groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Say it louder, would you? I’m sure there are a few people in the Arts section that haven’t heard you yet.”

“I was perfectly circumspect, thank you very much. So, your hobby is drawing Simon Snow?” Penelope sat down and placed the parchment on the table between them.

Baz didn’t take his hands away from his face. “No.”

“Then what? Because these seem very detailed. A lot of work has gone into these drawings, and you don’t put so much effort into things you don’t care about, Baz, I know you.” Penelope poked Baz’s hands until he let them fall and made eye contact with her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I don’t know,” Baz muttered. “I just-” He made vague hand motions.

“Okay. I have just the solution for your,” Penelope flapped her hands in imitation, “problem.”

“You do? Wait, what’s the problem?”

“First things first. You will resharpen my quill, and I will write a nice long letter.” Penelope handed over the quill knife and quill and bent to her task.

“A letter to whom?” Baz asked.

“Simon, obviously.”

“Saying what? Don’t tell him-”

“Start sharpening, art boy,” Penelope said and flicked a braid over her shoulder in response to Baz’s exaggerated sigh. “And you better deliver this letter, or I’ll hear of it.”

—-

Baz entered his and Si- Snow’s room nervously. Penelope had enveloped the letter in a blank sheet of parchment- gone was her previous thrifty attitude- and sealed it magically against him. Of course he could counter the spell, but Pen would tan his hide, and truthfully, he needed a solution. He’d take anything if it got Simon bloody Snow out of his head.

“Listen, Snow-” he began, but he got no further. On hearing Baz’s voice, Simon turned big, round eyes on him and held up a piece of paper.

“What is this?” Simon asked.

Baz leaned forward and peered at the paper, only to snatch it and glare at his roommate. “You took my notes from my bed?”

“I threw my notes across the room and went to pick them up,” Simon said woodenly, “and some landed on your bed. I must have mixed them up with some of yours by mistake.”

“Well, don’t do it again,” Baz said lamely. Simon was already shaking his head.

“That’s not what I was talking about,” he said. He got up from his chair and pointed at the drawing that covered half the page. “That’s me, isn’t it?”

Baz looked at the drawing. It was a very good likeness. There was no use denying it. “Yes.”

“It’s me… naked.”

“Yes.”

“When did you even have the opportunity to-?”

“It’s only the upper torso. We both dress in here. I’ve had occasion to, ah, observe you.” Baz lifted his chin. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Why did you draw me naked?”

“Well.” Baz looked at his roommate. Simon looked away, but the expression on his face could only be described as… forlorn. “Penelope gave me a letter to give you.” He thrust the parchment at Simon.

“Um, okay.” Simon opened the parchment and took out the letter- which, Baz was embarrassed to discover, was the one that held his drawings. He inspected both sides. Baz stared at his and Simon’s feet, which were very close together.

“Have you read this?” Simon asked finally. He sat down on the bed next to Baz and set the paper between them.

“No. Sealing spell.”

“Just like Pen.” Simon stared at a point on Baz’s face. “You can read it if you like.”

“Does it contain an elaborate essay on the subject of the neo-classical art movement and its influence on nature spells?” Baz asked hopefully.

“Not really. It, um, it’s a bit short.” Simon nodded at the page and Baz leaned over it to read it.

Simon, it said. Baz fancies you. Get a move on already.

“She’s very direct, isn’t she,” Baz said slowly.

“Is it true though? Pen’s smarter than anyone, but she does like, um.”

“Theorizing?” Baz crumpled the parchment and tossed them into the wastebasket. “Yeah.” He waited a few seconds and clarified. “Yes, I fancy you.”

“Oh. That’s, um. Great news.” Simon was still staring at the same spot in his face, Baz noticed. It was weird. “I, I mean, I think you’re, uh, a really, um, attractive, that is…”

“Not so good with words, are you, Simon?” Baz said.

“Not so much.” Simon seemed to take the use of his first name as encouragement, because he reached out and touched Baz’s face, tracing an abstract route. “You’ve got ink specks on your face.”

“Have I? Do tell.” Baz turned a little to allow Simon full access to said face.

“At least ten, I think.” Simon stopped tracing his finger across Baz’s face and cupped his cheek in his hand.

“It happens when I’m enthusiastic about the drawing subject,” Baz invented, and watched Simon’s cheeks turn very red.

“You’re, um, enthusiastic about me?” Simon scooted a little closer.

“Well, I did cover my summary of the Salem Witch Trials with a depiction of your naked upper body,” Baz said.

“Right. Forgot about that.” Simon bit his lip and blushed even darker. “Do you want to see my naked upper body?”

Baz blinked. “Wow. That was the least sexy offer of stripping I have ever heard from anybody.”

“So no?” Simon asked, and lowered his hand.

“So hell yes,” Baz said, and leaned forward to meet Simon halfway in a very enthusiastic kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> There are quite a few famous British stage magicians with the surname Maskelyne, all also inventors, all related. Hmm...


End file.
